


Warrior Heart

by DaniJayNel



Series: 100 YumiKuri Stories [93]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: AU, F/F, Oneshot, Warrior - Freeform, day 01, prompt 04, yumikuri, yuri fest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-06-02 06:33:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6554971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaniJayNel/pseuds/DaniJayNel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ymir has wanted to be a warrior since she can remember. One day, one such warrior stumbles at her door at midnight.  Her name is Historia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warrior Heart

Ever since she was a young girl, Ymir had always wanted to become a druid warrior and join the armies. But she was of poor background, and couldn’t afford the warrior training required before being allowed into the warriors’ guild. Her mother was sickly, and while Ymir didn’t resent her for their financial situation, she resented society as a whole

Now, at sixteen, Ymir worked tirelessly at the mines, extracting the dazmon stones required for magic. She hated the job, hated how dirty it made her and how the other young kids fought amongst each other.

Ymir was on her way home from an especially difficult day. Her palms were scraped and her skin itched and ached. She was caked with mud and dirt, probably even blood. As soon as she got home she would take a bath in the stream behind their crumbling home. First she stopped by the markets, to spend her day’s earning on food and medicine. She bought pain elixirs and sleeping drinks, and then a bag of pig trimmings. Once she was sure she had enough—and that her money was almost completely finished—she went on her way towards the forests, where the poor built their rickety houses and hid away from society.

At the edge of the village, Ymir paused with many others. A drum roll sounded in the distance, along with cries and heavy, synced footfalls. Over the horizon a mass of bodies moved, straight for the village. With only one look Ymir could tell who they were—the druid warriors. Why they were stampeding through her poor village she didn’t know. Ymir and the other villagers cleared out of the roadway, opening the village for the warriors to walk through.

They wore leather uniforms, fit snuggly to their firm, fit bodies. Ymir watched them, envied and hated them as much as she awed them. Men and women, tall and short, all kinds of people trudged past, weapons at their backs or hips. Their discipline was impressive. Not one of them broke formation or even so much as glanced at the village or people surrounding them. They made noise whenever their commander shouted, and their footsteps were heavier than the beating drum at their back.

Ymir was at least tall enough even at her age to see over the heads of the others, and get a good look at the army as they passed. She was impressed, and the familiar feeling of resentment clenched her chest tightly. She grabbed the fabric above her heart, jaws tense. She wanted to march with them, to fight for their kingdom. But she couldn’t, and she needed to accept that.

With a sigh, Ymir pushed away from the crowd and towards home. Her mother was waiting, and she still needed a bath.

XxX

That night Ymir couldn’t sleep. She would thank her insomnia, for she heard the sound of quiet knocking at their front door. At first she ignored the sound, thinking it was merely a product of her tired mind, but it began to bother her until she hauled herself out of bed and padded over to the front door.

Lying on their porch, battered and out cold, was a young warrior. Ymir stared down at her form, at the flowing blonde hair scattered over her shoulder and cheek. That same cheek had a deep gash, and some of the hair was sticky with deep, red blood. The warrior’s clothes were torn, as well, so Ymir bent down and scooped her up. She was very heavy, and Ymir just managed to deposit her on the furs close to the fireplace—the only luxury their house had, but even then, it was too dangerous to use sometimes.

Ymir didn’t want to wake her sleeping mother, so she quietly retrieved some medical supplies and then cleaned the warrior’s face of blood. She was so very pretty, making Ymir’s heart pound with both fear and excitement every time the cloth passed over pale, bruised skin. Once she was clean, Ymir gently shook her shoulder.

“Hey,” she whispered. “Wake up.” There was no immediate response, so Ymir shook a little harder and raised her voice. “Oi, wake up dumbass!”

The warrior flinched, eyes fluttering slowly to reveal clear, beautiful blue eyes. They were confused and blurry at first, but then they hardened to icy daggers and she pushed Ymir away.

“Who are you?” she demanded, hand whipping to her hip. Ymir shook her head.

“Your sword wasn’t with you. I found you on our front porch. You knocked.”

The warrior shook her head. “I didn’t. I don’t… don’t recall coming here.” Her eyes were narrowed in suspicion.

Ymir rolled her eyes. “Oh come on, why would I go out to attack you and bring you here, then pretend to care by cleaning and patching you up?”

The warrior only noticed then that her bruises were covered and her gashes stitched up. She assessed the damaged to herself, sighing softly. When she turned to look at Ymir again, her eyes had softened. “I’m sorry. You saved me?”

“What else was there to do?” Ymir shrugged. “Besides, I don’t leave pretty girls to sleep in the dirt.”

Miss Warrior blushed softly, and it was adorable in that it didn’t fit her image. She had battle scars, toned muscles and the wariness of a warrior, and yet she still blushed like an innocent. She didn’t look too much older than Ymir, but still, she looked years beyond her age. Ymir didn’t want to know what she might have seen.

“Come on, I’ll help you clean your clothes. We have a stream out back. No hot water, though. I’m Ymir.” She offered her hand.

“Historia.”

Historia gripped Ymir’s hand tightly. Ymir winced when the hold nearly crushed her fingers, but didn’t say anything of her pain. She tugged Historia with her out the door and to the stream. Once there, Historia stripped naked and walked slowly into the shallow water. Ymir heard her sigh, and wondered why Historia seemed completely unconcerned by her nudity in front of a stranger.

She stayed on the sand, washing Historia’s ruined clothing as much as she could. When she was done she hung them, then fetched clean clothes from her bedroom. “Here,” she said.

Historia thanked her and dressed, continuously unconcerned that her body was on display. Ymir tried not to look, but how could she not? A large, intricate tattoo travelled down Historia’s side, winding down both her left arm and leg. It must have been painful, but the other scars littering Historia’s small form made Ymir believe that Historia had a high tolerance for pain.

“Thank you, but I must be off.” Historia retrieved her still wet clothes. “I need to return to the guild at once.”

Ymir resisted the urge to pry. She knew the warriors swore an oath of silence. So she simply rocked back on her heels, anger and resentment bubbling in her chest again. Historia approached, and then she did something Ymir hadn’t been prepared for. She pulled her down by the front of her shirt and kissed her soundly. When she pulled back, Historia was grinning smugly.

“I saw you staring,” she said lowly. “So consider this your payment for helping me.” She slipped a piece of paper in Ymir’s hand, then gathered the last of her things and left.

Ymir, still reeling from the kiss, took a while to regain herself and look at the paper. It was a formal invitation to visit the guild. Ymir’s heart stuttered.

After sucking in a breath, Ymir bounded after Historia.


End file.
